It's Time
by YouRang
Summary: Five years ago, Levi left; heartbroken and vowing never to return. Now, family calls her back. She's not ready to face the reason she left and she's definitely not ready for the emotions a certain dark-haired man still stir in her. Marvel AU, Bucky X OFC. Rated M for language, smut, adult situations and descriptions of suffering and death. I own nothing but my OC, Levka.
1. Chapter 1

_It's time._

Two little words, glowing on my phone screen; an innocent text, that manage to stop my heart.

Even though I've been expecting this for the last eight months, I'm still not ready.

Taking a deep breath, I dial the familiar number. He answers on the fourth ring.

"Lev."

"Clint."

For a long moment, neither of us speak.

"Are you coming home?" He finally asks.

"Does she even remember me?"

"Her only daughter? Of course she does."

My cuticles are suddenly very interesting. "Do I have time?"

"Yeah. If you hurry. I'd give her maybe a week."

"Does she _want _to see me?"

He sighs then, and I feel a small twinge of guilt. "Yes, she's been asking for you, she doesn't understand why you left in the first place."

"You know why-"

"I know, and before the cancer started rotting her brain Mom knew too, but now she's asking... Can I tell her you'll be here soon?"

_Dammit. _"Yeah. My manager owes me, I'll call in my vacation time; let me find a flight and I'll call you back with the details."

"Thanks, Lev."

"Sorry I wasn't there."

"Don't worry about it."

"Is _he _going to be there?"

Another sigh. "He's one of my best friends, of course he'll be around."

"I don't want to see him."

Clint is silent for so long, I wonder if the call dropped and glance at my screen to check.

"It's been five years, Lev. You're going to have to let it go."

"You know I can't."

"You don't know the whole story, and if you weren't so goddamn stubborn I could've told you it a long time ago."

"Clint, don't. Don't go all big brother on me."

"Six minutes older."

"Big whoop."

I hear mumbling in the background, Clint's reply is muffled. "Lev? I gotta go, Nat needs help with the baby. You still have to meet your niece, you little puke."

"I'll call you back."

"Just leave a message if I don't answer, sometimes it takes awhile to get Lou to sleep."

"Alright."

"Bye, you little shit."

"Bye, ass-munch."

My smile fades as the call ends. My Mom is dying, end stage cancer and, from the other side of the country, it's been easy to avoid that hard truth. She always loved Clint more than me anyway, but that's hardly an excuse. Now it's time to face the music.

A few minutes noodling around on my laptop gets me a round-trip flight leaving tomorrow morning.

My call to my manager is short and saccharine sweet. I have the next three weeks off, with the option of taking another week; it definitely pays to hoard your vacation time.

My neighbour across the hall agrees to watch Grimshaw for me, and I pet his sleek black fur one last time before handing him over, earning a nip for my trouble. The former stray is smart, even for a cat and he knows what's up. He never gets shuttled over to the neighbour's unless I'm leaving for an extended period of time, and he makes sure I know he's displeased.

It doesn't take long to pack, and I'm yawning under the covers not long after. I'm stubbornly refusing to consider what's going to happen once I get home, and what my chances are of running into _him._

The flight doesn't take nearly long enough, and far too soon I'm walking through arrivals, wondering if it would be uncouth to pop into the airport bar for a few shots of liquid courage.

"Hey stranger!"

The first real smile I've cracked all day appears as I turn to the speaker and am swept up into a bone-cracker of a bear hug, suddenly surrounded by familiar cologne and strong arms.

"Hi, Steve."

"That's all? Hi, Steve? Haven't seen you for years and it's 'Hi, Steve?"

"Oh! Steven! My beating heart! I've missed you so!" I wail dramatically, pretending to swoon and falling against his broad chest, looking up into his amused face before reaching up and clutching at his cheeks, pinching them and pulling him down for a loud European style set of kisses. "Better?"

"A little." He teases, slinging an arm over my shoulder and pulling me to his side. "Did Clint tell you I was picking you up?"

"No, he just said he wasn't going to be able to and he'd see who he could find. I was thinking I'd probably get a cab."

"Nah, baby girl. As soon as he said you were flying in I volunteered." His arm tightens, pulling me closer and he plants a loud kiss to the top of my head. Out of all of Clint's friends, Steve has always been the big brother, the big affectionate goof not ashamed to tell you he loved you, that always answered the phone, no matter the god-awful hour and was halfway out the door to pick you up before your drunken ass could even remember which party you were currently at.

He scrunches a handful of my hair. "What's this? Channelling homeless 80's hair-band?

"Shut up." I slap his shoulder hard enough to hurt my hand, but of course it doesn't faze the gorilla. "I had a hair appointment booked today, but I'm here."

"You look like you did in school, last picture I saw, you had some sleek French model bob thing."

I feel a twinge of guilt, that was almost a year ago. "Nah, it grew out. I've been up to my eyeballs in projects lately; my only regular date is my masseuse to try and loosen up these knots I get from bending over a drafting table all day."

"Clint said you're almost a partner?"

"Bro exaggerates." I stop short, grinning widely at the vehicle Steve has led me to. "Nice wheels, Rogers."

His grin back is equal parts pride and bashful. All through high school he'd talked about owning a vintage Porsche, and the black piece of art in front of me sure looked like one. "Got lucky and found the ad just as the guy posted it, it needed a little body work, but not much else. Got it reasonable enough, guy wanted room in his garage for his new toy."

Stowing my bags in the front, _trunk_, I remind myself, he holds my door open like a gentleman then runs around the front, sliding into the driver's side with his typical grace before turning the key and grinning widely at me. It was infectious and I can't help but grin back, squeaking in surprise when he lays a few blackies screeching out of the parking lot.

"So how is work going?" Steve asks, downshifting, the hum of the engine immediately addicting.

"I'm a senior architect at the firm, but I doubt I'll be partner anytime soon."

"Why? You're amazing, Bean. I saw what you'd draw in art class."

"My personnel file calls it a 'bellicose attitude', I'm sure if I wasn't the one bringing in 40% of the contracts myself, and if they hadn't head-hunted me, I'd of been skidded months ago."

"Why the attitude? Just do your thing, sweet; don't pay attention to the peasants."

I sigh, rubbing my forehead. "Half of the people there are just concerned with prestige; they just want to design the newest 'in' thing, not for the art of it, but the fame; I'm not an architect for the glory, I love _architecture._"

"Come back home, there's plenty of firms in Manhattan that would love to have you. Get out of Seattle before you're completely disillusioned."

"It's not that simple."

Steve rolls his eyes, fixing me with an affectionate exasperation. "You can't do that forever, Bean. It's been five years."

"Do you and Clint compare notes?" I grumble, pointing out the windshield. "Stop at that Starbucks and I'll buy you a Caramel Macchiato to shut up."

Smirking, Steve pulls into the parking lot and kills the engine but before I can climb out he grabs my hand, stopping me. "It's hard not to, you guys were perfect for each other. He's spent the last five years kicking his own ass over it, and we miss you here, please just talk to the guy."

"He slept with another girl, Steve. Or did you forget? Got her pregnant too."

A dark emotion sweeps across Steve's normally cheerful face. "That's your side of it."

"What other side is there?" Even as the words leave my mouth I feel a hot flash of shame. That had been part of the reason I'd left in the first place, to avoid this; to stop from breaking the gang up by demanding they choose sides.

"Are you happy?" He asks suddenly.

"What?"

"Working across the country, in a city where you have no family? Sure, you're an architect, your dream; but this is the first time you've been home since Clint and Nat's wedding... four years ago, has your anger been worth that?"

Suddenly, I wasn't sure anymore. The wave of nostalgia I'd been holding back hits me full force then and I have to look away, blinking back unexpected tears. Steve's hand is warm over mine.

"I didn't mean to make you cry. I just... just talk to him, Bean. Clear the air if nothing else. If you still feel the same way after then you can go back to Washington with a clear heart, but it's obvious you're not over him." He cups my chin, turning my head to look at him and waits patiently until I raise my eyes. He smiles gently, grinning wider when I manage a wet smile back.

"Love you, Bean. I've missed you; we've all missed you."

"Love you back, doofus. You want sprinkles?"

"You're buying? Of course." He pulls away, reclining into his seat with a groan and flaps his hand at me. "Hurry up, I'm thirsty."

His Macchiato occupies him the rest of the way and I find myself staring out the window as we drive, finding less changes than I expected to the old neighbourhood. I was used to constant design and construction back in Seattle, this is exactly what I remember from high school.

"Nothing's changed." Steve beats me to the punch, slowing to a stop to let an old lady cross the road, carrying a reusable shopping bag. He sticks his head out the window. "You need any help, Mrs. Proctor?"

Her reply is muffled, but Amelia Proctor was ancient when I was young, and muttered back then too. I catch a 'no, dear boy, but thank you' then she's past us, moving like creeping Jesus.

After he closes the window I grin. "Mrs. Proctor's still around, huh?"

"Yep, and she'll still chase you down with her cane if you cut across her flower garden. How many times did you do that?"

I can't stop a giggle. "At least once a week, it was a game; she loved it."

"You two were terrible; poor Mrs. Proctor, if it wasn't you, it was him."

He's treading in dangerous waters again, and I look away.

I don't look forwards again until he turns the car into the driveway. I'm staying at Mom's while I'm here, same lapis blue exterior with white trim, same swing on the wrap-around porch. Clint's car is parked in front of the garage doors. I glance down the street, his house is just a half-block down, brick-red with grey trim. He and Nat bought that house from the Foster's right after they got married, would they stay there, or move into this house, our childhood home?

"There she is!" My door is yanked open and arms pull me out into a tight hug.

"Sam Wilson."

"Lev Barton." He lets me go only far enough to kiss my forehead then yanks me back again, finally releasing me with a loud sigh. "You look good baby girl, except for that hair." He cuts a glance at Steve and I wonder briefly if Rogers texted him to have that line ready.

"Shut up."

His laugh is infectious and he slings his arm around my neck, pulling me close and almost off my feet. "I'm kidding, you look like you did in high school, it looks good."

He's the second person to say that, first Steve and now Sam; I hadn't really had time to think about it these last few months, who else is going to wax nostalgic on me?

"Baby sister!" I hear the familiar voice and duck out from Sam's arm just in time to be swept up by Clint. It takes my breath away just how tightly he grabs me and I feel a rush of fresh shame; what kind of sister have I been, letting him deal with all this himself?

"I'm sorry." I murmur in his ear and he knows immediately what I'm talking about.

"It's okay, Mom's always been hardest on you, I understood why you've stayed away." He turned his head and pressed a kiss to my hair. "I'm just happy you're here now." He steps back, glancing over his shoulder, his face splitting into a huge grin as Nat appears, a pink blanket wrapped bundle in her arms.

My sister-in-law and childhood friend steps closer, looking every inch a glowing new mom. She tilts the bundle so I can see and I feel my heart immediately burst.

"Ohhhh... guys, she's adorable." I find myself cooing, making 'gimme' fingers. Carefully my new niece is placed in my arms and I'm completely suckered.

She's got Clint's blond hair and Nat's nose, fist curled against her downy-soft cheek. She's already a few months old but she still looks like a tiny doll to me.

"She's so little."

Clint wraps his arm around my shoulders again, looking down at his daughter. "Yeah, she's just a little shit," he grins, sidestepping Nat's playful smack.

"Is Jax still around? I'm getting her name tattooed on my wrist." It's a split second decision, but that's how I roll.

"Yeah, he's still downtown." Clint answers, shaking his head. We may be twins, but we've never been alike. Clint's got Mom's hair and eyes, while I'm darker, like Dad. Clint treats his body like a temple, whereas I've closing in on an even dozen tattoos. Clint's never had so much as an earring, while I've had a whole gamut of piercings, up to and including one only my infrequent boyfriends have ever seen. "Can you see Mom though before you run off defacing yourself further?"

My mood stutters a bit as I'm reminded why I'm here in the first place and Clint sobers as well, pressing a kiss to my forehead in apology before stepping away. Nat takes his place and smiles as her new daughter stirs and blows a few bubbles in her sleep. I just grin like a damn fool down at her for a few minutes, breathing soft-baby smell and sighing.

"Eloise Arabella Barton." I grin.

"You're not tattooing all that, are you?" Nat sounds doubtful.

"No, just 'Lou', it's almost as cute as her."

Clint reappears, face sombre. "I just called the hospice. Mom's having a good day, did you want to go?"

I gently hand Lou back and take a deep breath. "Just let me put my bag in my room, then yeah." I glance over at Steve and Sam, standing nearby. "You guys?"

Sam shakes his head. "I gotta run, Wanda's on bedrest. You have to come by and see her, Bean."

"How much longer does she have?"

"Five weeks. And she hates every minute of it. First pregnancy was fine, now the second one is dragging her down."

"Must be a boy, then."

"Ha Ha. Text me later Bean, before Wanda opens the bedroom window and starts screaming your name."

"I will."

Sam turns and starts jogging away; he, Wanda and their adorable daughter Zoë live the next street over.

"Steve?"

He shakes his head. "I have to run by the site, check out the new crew."

I nod, trying to hide my disappointment. Steve would have been a good buffer between me and my Mom, now I'm going in alone. "Business going good?" I feel bad for not asking sooner about Steve's construction company.

"Yeah, it's good." He seems reluctant to answer, "Buck handles most of the grunt work now, I handle the clients end of it."

I nod. Steve always was the most even-tempered of us all, the one who easily made and kept friends, the 'never met a stranger' guy. His business partner, the man I'd avoided for five long years, was a whole other story.

He leans forward suddenly, presses a quick kiss to my forehead. "Say hi to your Mom for me and I'll see you tonight."

"What's tonight?"

"Didn't Clint tell you? He's having a barbeque to welcome you back."

"What?"

"It _was_ a surprise, you big dummy." Clint deadpans behind me. "If Bean knew about it, she'd catch the first flight back to Seattle."

My immediate flash of panic is quickly overwhelmed by the thought of seeing all the old neighbourhood again. Surely it'll be big and busy enough that even if _he _does show up, I can avoid him.

Steve shrugs in a 'sorry, not sorry' way and turns away, calling goodbye over his shoulder before roaring off.

"Dick." Clint shakes his head, grinning. "C'mon. Nat's feeding Lou; hop in the car and we'll go see Mom."

I never did get to put my bags inside, so I set them just inside the porch and walk over to Clint's vehicle.

"You need a minivan now, Dad." I tease.

"Nah," he replies easily, buckling his seatbelt and gesturing into the backseat. "This is the ultimate in soccer-mom SUV chic, minivans are so last season."

We fall silent as we get closer to the hospice and I find myself picking at a small mark on my jeans. The shaking in my knees gets worse as I follow Clint inside the building, smiling dutifully as I'm introduced to the receptionist, then follow my brother down a maze of hallways. He knows the way and if I wasn't about to have a panic attack, I'd be able to focus more on how downright beautiful and peaceful it is here. Soft lights and music, green spaces and small waterfalls, it's a nice place, considering you only come here if you're going to die. Dad's estate has been footing the bill for here, and I can see now why it costs so much.

He stops in front of a room and holds up a hand. "Wait here." He instructs before disappearing inside. I fidget and wait, pulling at my poor cuticles a little more before he reappears. "C'mon."

I follow, swallowing hard but I'm still not prepared for the sight that awaits me. Always fashionably lean, Mom is positively gaunt now, her hair thin and colourless, a far cry from the perfect weekly blow-outs she always had. Dad had been a successful business man up to his surprise death from a heart attack when Clint and I were sixteen, and Mom had always been the polished, glamorous wife, doting on her favoured son and tolerating her free-spirited daughter. Spare with her compliments and sharp with her judgements, her and I had never really gotten on. She'd been smart though, learning the business quietly from Dad, taking over when he died and selling it for an embarrassing profit a year later, she'd ensured herself a comfortable life, and now, a comfortable death. I knew there were trust funds set up for Clint and I, but I'd never looked into mine, preferring to make my own money.

Her eyes, bleary with heavy painkillers, nonetheless lock onto me like a missile.

"Levka."

I've never gone by my full name. Supposedly, when we were born, Dad got to name Clint, and called him Clinton Edward after some childhood friend that died young, while Mom got to name me. She had a degree in Russian Literature that she'd never to my knowledge used, other than bestowing me with my incongruous handle; Levka Valentina Barton.

She reaches for my hand, breaking me out of my thoughts and I give it before I can think twice. Her grip is weaker, but still stronger than most men. I sit in the chair Clint pushes forward for me and try to think of what to say.

"Mom, I-"

"Don't, Levka." Her voice is surprisingly strong. "You and I have never been ones for idle chitchat, at least not with each other."

I shift guiltily on my chair, wondering if I'm about to get my proverbial ass handed to me by a woman with no fucks left to give.

"I wanted to see you before I go," she continues, as matter of fact as if she's leaving for a weekend at the spa. "I've always been proud of you, Levka; even when I didn't show it."

I nearly fall off my chair in shock. Mom has never, ever told me she was proud of me.

"You are as strong as your name, and you have always been strong in your convictions. Perhaps that's why we've never gotten along, but I've always admired how you make your own way. I want my grand-daughter to have strong role models in her life, to grow up knowing independent women like you and her mother; therefore, I'm leaving you my house-"

I glance in shock at Clint, but he doesn't look surprised.

"-and I hope you will move back home and help raise Lou, help mold her into a eloquent and respected young lady."

I'm gasping like a fish out of water and Clint steps closer, resting his hand on my shoulder.

"I hope you'll forgive me, Levka; for not being the best mother to you. I want to be able to see your father again and tell him we are okay."

Okay, now I'm crying. I feel Clint's hands on my shoulders and for the longest time, I can only hold Mom's hand against my cheek as I try to form words. That's all I've wanted, all my life from this woman, acceptance. "Yes Mom; of course." I manage tearfully a few minutes later.

Almost immediately Mom nods and closes her eyes, sighing peacefully and for a micro-second I panic, thinking she's gone ahead and died, but Clint leans forward over me, gently disentangles our hands and presses a kiss to the top of my head.

"She does that," he explains quietly. "Falls asleep really easily. The painkillers. She'll be out for hours." He pulls gently at me. "C'mon, Bean."

I let him pull me to my feet, let him lead me outside like a child and, when we reach his vehicle, I break down completely, and cry like a baby on his shoulder.

Later, on our way home, I'm better, lighter than I've felt in years, and unable to stop grinning like an idiot.

"I should have come home sooner."

"Nah," Clint's smile is bittersweet. "Up until last week she still would have torn you apart; that's how I knew it was time, she finally wanted to make amends."

"I'm sorry about the house, I'll put you on the deed too-"

"Don't worry about it, Bean. I have my home, just do what she wants and move back, please?"

I chew my bottom lip, I can't answer that right now. I have a life in Seattle; okay, it revolves around work and a small group of acquaintances, but it's still my life. If I moved back I'd be settling right back into my old life, my old friends... there would be no way in hell I'd be able to continue to avoid my past. But Mom's words echo through my head, and it's her fucking dying wish. After my entire life wanting the woman's approval and love, I'd do damn near anything now that I had it.

"I have to think about it."

Clint nods, dropping the subject. After a few more minutes he pulls into the local grocery store parking lot. "Well," he grins, reaching across me and grabbing his wallet from the glove box. "Now that Steve's let the cat out of the bag, come help me grab supplies for the barbeque, I have no idea what hipsters from Seattle like to eat."

"Ha Ha," I grumble, but follow him anyway.

By that evening there's paper lanterns strung across the backyard and a few dozen people are milling around, grazing at the snack bowls and standing in loose groups, drinking and talking. I recognize most of them, went to school with half of them, and am being dragged around by either Clint or Steve, depending on who's manning the grill at the time, being introduced to the rest. Nat and Lou are surrounded by cooing women and Wanda is reclining in an outdoor chaise lounge, Sam waiting on her hand and foot, to my endless amusement.

I'm actually feeling quite relaxed, my second Dirty Corona going down way too easily and thoughts that this could be my new normal flitting casually through my head when it all comes crashing down.

"Levi."

There's only one person who calls me that, pronouncing it like 'when the levee breaks' and there's only one person whose voice gives me chills, even after all these years. I take a deep breath, steeling myself and turn around.

"Bucky."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** **Hey, I'd kill for some reviews...**

"Levi."

There's only one person who calls me that, pronouncing it like 'when the levee breaks' and there's only one person whose voice gives me chills, even after all these years. I take a deep breath, steeling myself and turn around.

"Bucky."

He smiles tentatively, the smile dropping when I don't return it. I notice his hand is clutching at the neck of his beer bottle, the knuckles white; is he nervous?

I'm not going to be the first one to talk, so I keep my mouth closed and study him instead. He's thicker than he was in high school, far more muscular and defined; his hair is longer too, brushing his stubbly jaw. He's wearing worn jeans and a red Henley, the sleeves pushed up; work boots like he came over directly from a construction site. But the eyes are the same, the same deep, soulful blue, the same blue I found myself getting lost in too many times to count.

"Can we... can we talk?" He asks quietly, uncertainly.

I sigh. "What is there to talk about, James?"

He winces, I never use his given name and it only reminds him of the distance between us, exactly what I intended.

_I'm too sober for this. _"Nice to see you," I chirp, totally aware that I'm being a petty bitch, and owning it. "Say hi to the wife and kid, or I guess, kids, by now." I whirl and almost skip away, eyes searching for someone else to talk to.

Nat eyes me when I nudge her shoulder, make 'gimme' fingers for my niece. She hands her over with a tut of disapproval. "You enjoy that?"

"What?"

"Bucky. You couldn't stand there for five minutes and talk to him?"

"Nope." I pop the 'p' and start cooing down at Lou.

"He looks crushed."

I don't bother to glance up. "Good." I coo, making Lou grin and babble up at me.

Nat sighs. "Lev, we've been friends a long, long time. You and Bucky have been an item since our first nap-time in kindergarten... you're being a real bitch right now."

I pause in my baby-babble and glance at her, crane my head past her to look over at Bucky. He's in profile to me, head lowered, picking at the label on his bottle. As I watch he inhales deeply, like he's steeling himself, and walks away, past Sam and Wanda, past Steve and Clint at the grill and out the front gate. I feel a strange flutter in my chest, one so damn similar to what I've been feeling thinking about Clint left to deal with mom's illness, and recognize it as guilt.

_Dammit._

Giving Nat the stink-eye I hand Lou back to her and go after him.

"Bucky, wait!" I call, jogging between the vehicles in the driveway, nearly sideswiping Clint's SUV because my head's on a swivel, trying to find him. I spot him a couple dozen feet away, reaching to open the door of a battered pick-up.

He looks up, and too many emotions flash across his face for me to read. He turns to face me as I round the back of the truck and stumble to a halt a few yards away.

I cross my arms; Nat may have guilted me into going after him, but I'm not going to make this easy on him. "You wanted to talk?"

He swallows hard and nods, rubbing a hand over his mouth. After a moment he gestures to the cab. "You want to go for a ride?"

"No, I don't think so."

I pretend not to notice his slightly unsteady exhale and stay silent. He wanted to talk, so talk.

"I..." He breaks off, fiddling with his keys.

"Okay." I snap. I tried. I turn to sprint back.

"Wait!" The edge of panic in his voice makes me pause and I turn my head to side-eye him, my chin touching my shoulder.

"I'm sorry."

That pisses me off. _Sorry?_ I whirl and let him have it.

"Sorry?! Sorry is what you say when you break my favourite coffee cup, not when you fuck someone else!"

"We were broken up!"

"A week!" I hear myself screech. I hate the sound and hold my hands up to silence his response. After a long moment I look up to meet his eyes. "You waited a week, then you stuck your dick in another woman-"

He opens his mouth but I cut him off.

"- and knocked her up too! That's way beyond a pathetic 'I'm sorry', Barnes."

"You never gave me a chance to explain-"

"Explain?! What is there to explain? You know what? This is stupid. Go home to her, James. You chose her over me when you fucked her." I'm vibrating now, fighting the urge to storm forwards and punch his guilty fucking face. Instead I whirl and sprint back to the party, deciding it's time to trade up from beer to the hard stuff. I don't look back and, as I pass through the gates, i hear his truck start.

Nat looks up as I storm past her, heading for the drinks table and Clint grabs the second shot I've poured for myself out of my hand before I can slam it.

"Stop it." He orders and I don't even bother trying to reach for the glass, he's using his Dad voice. He grips my upper arm and pulls me away from the table, up onto the covered deck before releasing me. "Now listen to me. I love you with all my goddamn heart and I will always support you. But this _has_ to stop. It has been _five_ years. Because of one man's mistake and your overreaction to it I've missed out on five years with my twin sister in my life. You missed Lou's birth, you haven't been here for Mom and I've had to watch one of my best friends tear himself apart _ever single day_ since you ran off to Seattle."

His words burn, but I can only focus on one thing. "Overreaction?"

He closes his eyes, shakes his head. "Yes. Overreaction. You had every right to be mad, but you didn't need to move to the other side of the damn country!"

"I went to school there." It's a feeble reason, but I'm using it.

"Yeah, because there's no schools on the east coast you could have gone to." His voice is tired, resigned. "They're not together anymore, they haven't been for a long time."

Despite myself, I find myself responding. "So?"

Clint raises his head, fixing me with an implacable expression. "You know as well as I do he was only with her out of obligation, and they broke up right after the baby was born."

"Why? Novelty wore off? Taco no bueno?"

"You'll have to ask him."

"You don't know or you're just not going to tell me?"

"Not telling. You'll have to lower yourself and speak to the man if you want to know." With one last disapproving Dad glare, he walks away.

I watch him go, the conflicting emotions in my stomach starting to sour it. The warm and comforting coat I've been wearing, 'V' for Victim proudly displayed, is starting to itch.

_Fuck it._

I'm not thinking about that shit right now, I not going to even entertain the possiblity that I've wasted the last five years, that I've _overreacted._

I storm back towards the booze.

_Oh God._

_What the hell did I drink last night?_

I remember getting into some type of competition with myself, to see how many shots I could down, but it gets fuzzy after that. Something's woke me up and it takes a second, between my impending hangover, and the goddamn sun shining right in my eyes, to realize that someone is sitting beside me, or more correctly, on the edge of the bed I don't remember crawling into. Wincing and squinting, I finally narrow down the stranger and my eyes fly open, causing a stab of pain right into my brain.

"Ow! Jesus, Clint!" I try to hide under my blankets again but Clint rests his hand on my shoulder and murmurs my name, in a tone I've never heard before. It sobers me up quick. I raise my head and look at him.

"The hospice just called. Mom died this morning." His voice is quiet.

"W-what?" I feel like I've been hit by a truck. "She's dead? Why didn't they call us sooner?"

Clint sighs. "They checked in on her at shift change, and when they looked in again less than a half-hour later, she was gone."

My mouth opens but nothing comes out. No, this is too soon. I don't realize I've said it out loud until Clint answers me.

"I think she was just waiting until you came home. She made all the arrangements months ago, all we need to do is call the funeral home when they open. I-" His cell phone rings.

He answers and even I can hear Lou crying in the background. He grimaces at me.

"Go," I push gently, shoo my fingers at him and he stands, leans down and presses a kiss to my forehead.

"Come over to the house. People are going to start showing up and I don't want you to be left alone."

I nod numbly and he hurries out.

A thousand different emotions run through me, from guilt to sorrow to shame. And rising out of that murkiness is one definite, one constant that my body and mind has always called for when I feel like this, the one place where I feel safest; and I'm too messed up right now to remind myself that it's wrong. I want Bucky.

_No. NO._

I stumble out of bed, trip over my cast-off jeans and barely make it to the bathroom before I start vomiting. But it's not my hangover emptying my stomach, it's sorrow, grief and confusion. One part of me, the part that's caving in on itself with anguish, wants Bucky _right now_, so badly it hurts; but another part is still raging and righteously indignant, still screaming for his head, ready to deny the comfort he would bring solely to continue to punish him.

I'm still heaving long after my stomach is empty and finally collapse over the seat, spitting weakly. When my head stops spinning I stagger to my feet and into the shower, sticky with sweat and shame.

The funeral food train has definitely pulled into the station. Every available surface in Clint and Nat's kitchen is covered with dishes; casseroles and cakes, jellied salads and squares. People appear with food, murmur their condolences and leave again. Nat has drifted into the nursery with Lou, eyes red-rimmed while Clint has disappeared completely.

There's an air of _relief_, and faint shame in the house and around everyone who stops by. Everyone is _relieved_ that Mom has finally passed on, found the peace in death that the cancer stole from her life, and cannot help but feel a vague _shame _for that. You are not supposed to be happy that someone has died, even if it liberated them.

I drift through the kitchen, pausing to sniff furtively at a few dishes, at a loss for what to do. There are no arrangements to make, no flowers to choose, song to decide on, location to secure. Mom handled all of that when she was first diagnosed, citing her desire to have everything 'just so' for her final send-off, not anyone else's idea of what she would have wanted. And while that's something that is comfortingly _Mom, _it's still aggravating. It's taken away the busywork that helps a person along after the death, gives them something to focus on besides their fresh pain.

I find myself wandering up the stairs and into the guest room. The bedspread is a beautiful quilt, soft under my fingers. Pushing the curtains aside, I look out the window, let my gaze travel without aim over the backyard. While Lou is far too young to use it, there is a new playhouse in the corner, cheery flowers painted on the sides. Probably a gift from Mom. Movement catches my eye and I lean forwards, looking down.

Clustered in a loose circle, standing near the house are Clint and a few other men. Two of them are vaguely familiar from the party last night. The other two I know all too well. Steve is at Clint's right, in profile and on Clint's left, facing me, is Bucky.

They all hold beer bottles loosely in their hands and Bucky, surprisingly, has a cigarette dangling from his lips; as I watch he inhales deeply and pulls it from his mouth, flicking ash onto the grass and holding it down by his thigh between his index and middle finger with practiced ease. Clint, Steve and Bucky look morose, shoulders slumped, talking in low voices. Mom always favoured Clint over me, but she also doted on Steve, Sam and Bucky, her other 'boy-children' more than any female friends we brought around; and I realize that while Clint and I are mourning the loss of our mom, Steve and Bucky have lost a mother too.

A new rush of guilt hits me, my confrontation with Bucky last night was ugly, and so he was already emotionally overwrought, only to have it compounded by Mom's death this morning. I study his face, see lines that weren't there even last night and have to fight a sudden urge to turn around and run down the stairs, out into the yard and fling myself into his arms, tuck my head under his chin and hold him tight.

As I'm staring, thinking these forbidden thoughts, Bucky looks up, his eyes locking with mine.


	3. Chapter 3

As I'm staring, thinking these forbidden thoughts, Bucky looks up, his eyes locking with mine.

I duck out of sight with a curse. _Shit._ That half-second of contact is sending shivers down my spine, and not the bad kind. The raw sorrow in his gaze, the immediate hopeful light that glowed in it when our eyes locked. I don't dare look again, wait... maybe he's coming into the house to see me. No. I can't right now.

Faint snores from the nursery tell me both Nat and Lou are down for the count, and I scurry as quietly down the stairs as I can, ducking out the front door. I make it back to Mom's, _my house now,_ I remember with a jolt and stop short.

Not everyone went to Clint and Nat's, there's a healthy stack of casseroles left on my front step too. A few scuttling trips takes care of that, then I shut and lock the door behind me with a sigh of relief.

Bucky doesn't follow, and while a big part of me is relieved, and even bigger part is disappointed.

The funeral is quiet, understated and tasteful, like Mom herself. Light, sombre classical plays in the background, and her urn is a simple polished metal. A few pictures of healthier times are surrounded by white and pale purple lilies, and one picture gives me pause, the largest one. I wonder if Clint disobeyed orders and snuck it in himself.

It's Mom and Dad together, not long before Dad's surprise fatal heart attack. It's a candid shot, taken at one of the many dinner parties Mom loved to host. She's seated at the table, fingers delicately clasping an even more delicate wine glass, and her head is thrown back in laughter. Dad has left his spot at the head of the table and is leaning over her from behind, and he's the reason she's laughing. He's laughing with her, face buried in her hair and they look so goddamn happy together it brings instant tears to my eyes. But I can't cry now, they're together again, like in the picture and that's good. I reach up to wipe at my eyes and hear a soft familiar voice.

"Levi."

My body doesn't jolt, like it's been expecting this. I turn to see Bucky standing a few feet away. He looks almost criminally handsome in a black suit, a thin tie and grey shirt. His hair is neatly combed and he's shaved, the exposed skin baby-soft.

"You look beautiful." He murmurs quietly.

"Thank you."

His skin is pale, eyes red-rimmed and he looks like the last few days have absolutely kicked the shit out of him emotionally. Maybe it's the surroundings, but I feel the beginnings of sympathy for him.

He takes a deep breath, opens his mouth and closes it again. I'm about to turn away when he tries again. "Lev, can we talk?... Please baby?"

The rush of rage that flows through me as he uses that forbidden pet name is matched only by the wave of comforting warmth. I've been called 'baby' by other men, other boyfriends, but the word never excites my heart like when Bucky says it.

Clint's words float back to me and I know I can't push this away anymore.

I close my eyes and drop my head, steeling myself for what is about to come. Slowly I raise it and look back over where Bucky anxiously waits for my answer.

"Okay." I turn and begin to walk somewhere more private, sense Bucky falling into step near me. I catch his hand move out of the corner of my eye. We always, _always _held hands when we walked, when we were near each other, and his hand moved reflexively to grab mine, before pulling back as he remembered he had no right to anymore. Part of me wishes he'd done it anyway.

As we step out of the building I pause, not sure where to go for what has the potential to grow into a screaming match like last time.

Bucky hesitates at my side before asking quietly. "Can we go somewhere else?"

Now it's my turn to hesitate. While I trust Bucky to not become violent and, unless he's changed in the last five years, he's never hurt even a fly, regardless of his size; what worries me is that if our conversation goes south, where that leaves me, literally. The last place I'll want to be located is either in Bucky's truck, in close quarters with him, _awkward,_ or left how far away from home and needing to either walk back or call for a ride. But I also don't want to become a spectacle right outside Mom's funeral either. It's ended, and everyone is enjoying the catered hors d'oeuvres and should be starting to trickle out soon.

"Alright."

Bucky sighs in relief beside me and walks quickly towards the parking lot. I recognize the same battered pick-up, but it's clean this time. He holds the passenger door open for me, gives me a nervous smile as he closes it behind me.

He doesn't ask me where I'd like to go, but I already know where he's heading. Our old high school has a green space far enough away from the main buildings that if we were energetic enough to make it out there, we were usually assured to be left alone. Most of our lunch hours and a good portion of our free periods during good weather were spent out there; all of us, Steve, Sam, Wanda, Nat, Bucky, Clint and I sprawled across the various picnic tables or up in the large shady trees.

As he shifts into neutral and lets the clutch out, Bucky hesitates again, staring out at the space where we spent so many happy times. Our first kiss was out here, in eighth grade. We'd played hooky from gym and stayed out here the whole afternoon, holding hands and talking before Buck finally got up the nerve to make the first move. We'd been such close friends for so long that spending hours together talking or holding hands wasn't unusual for us, but when Bucky turned towards me and pressed his lips to mine I'd been floored, rendered absolutely speechless. He'd just pulled back, face going adorably red thinking he'd just fucked up major when I'd finally come back down to earth and kissed him back, crawling into his lap in my eagerness. We'd necked until we'd heard the others approaching, pulling away and straightening ourselves out just in time to avoid either endless teasing or Clint's older-brother wrath.

Bucky must be remembering that as well, for I see him smile and bite his bottom lip a moment before reality crashes back down and his face falls, glancing quickly at me before pushing open his door that squeals in protest, rattling as he slams it shut. He opens my door, something he always did for me before as well and I feel a twinge; Bucky always treated me like his princess, always opened doors for me, pulled out chairs for me to sit in. Even if I was already wearing a coat, if I shivered even once Bucky would always shrug off his jacket and drape it over my shoulders, foregoing his own comfort for mine.

He's always taken care of me, I realize with a flicker of sadness.

I walk over to a picnic table under one of the shading trees. I climb up and sit on the table-top, feet on the seat and slip out of my shoes, curling my toes in relief as they're released from that stiletto hell. I've always been a Chucks kind of girl, forcing my feet into uncomfortable heels only when attending the firm's events. Bucky stands a few feet away, his hands jammed in his pockets. I look down, see that others have added their own carvings to the table top, run my fingers over the faded JBB + LVB dug into the wood and have to bite back a moan of grief. I pull my hand back before the tears start to fall.

"What did you want to say?" I twist the ring on my finger nervously. I found it this morning in Mom's jewellery box, recognized it as a simple trinket Dad brought back from one of his business trips, a plain hammered band, a basic design carved in the band. Mom wore it often as I remember, choosing it as her everyday adornment, bringing out the big carats only for parties.

"You're right, it doesn't begin to cover what I did, but... I'm sorry." He's tentative, his voice hoarse and nervous, wondering if I'm going to go all desperate housewife on him again and maybe scratch his eyes out this time.

I nod, looking straight ahead, focused far away. I want to say it, but the words burn anyway.

"I'm sorry too."

Bucky exhales, a ragged, broken sound like all he's been holding onto for the last five years is the chance to hear me say that.

"Why?" I hate the way my voice breaks, even after all this time.

Bucky groans, a tortured sound. "You'd... just broken my heart, I was drunk out of my mind and just wanted to feel... something besides pain."

"So you fucked another girl."

"I was mad, we'd just had a huge fight and you tell me the words I _never ever_ wanted to hear from you, _'it's over, Buck'. _I was going crazy, nothing mattered anymore and here's this girl sitting on my lap and running her fingers through my hair and for a few-" his voice breaks, "-_goddamn_ minutes nothing hurt anymore, I could breathe again." He runs his hand roughly through his hair, messing it up and looks up at me, the raw pain in his face is staggering. "And I've spent every single _fucking_ minute since wishing I could take it back. But I can't."

"Clint says you're not together anymore, I figured you'd be married right now; two and a half kids, the dog, you know, the American Dream." God knows he held me enough times after we'd made love, limbs tangled together, my head on Buck's chest and his fingers idly tracing up and down my spine and talked about that, talked about the house we'd buy together, the tree-house he'd build, the playhouse he'd sit in with his daughters and drink imaginary tea with.

Bucky looks quickly away, blinking hard, swallowing even harder. "No." He manages to choke out. He turns away and gives me his back, head hanging, hands on hips for a moment before turning back and moving towards me. He sits on the seat, a few feet away from me, facing away and leans, more like collapses forward, holding his head in his hands.

"The baby wasn't mine." His voice is broken, exhausted, it seems to take all his strength to say it.

I'm so stunned for a moment I can only gape at his back before I collect my senses enough to murmur. "What? How did you know?"

Bucky raises his head with a long, weary inhale, staring straight ahead as he answers. "When he was born, the nurse... she put him on Alicia's chest and I looked down at him, ready to tell him I was his daddy and I would always love and protect him and... he had black hair."

I shift uneasily, there has to be more to this, for Bucky to be so sure this wasn't his son.

"And almond-shaped eyes."

I frown now, confused. That could mean a multitude of things, and aren't babies all scrunched up and funny-looking when they're born anyway-

"Alicia's ex was Tommy Yeung, remember him? Moved from Hong Kong back in grade two? One year ahead of us? When I asked why the baby she claimed was mine looked exactly like him she realized she couldn't lie anymore."

My stomach feels like it's dropped right out of the bottoms of my feet; and the chaotic mess of emotions that rush over me steal my breath and make my head spin.

"They broke up right before her and I... She was still pissed at him when she found out she was pregnant so she said it was mine and waited to see if she was right. And I was so fucking drunk that night I couldn't even remember if I'd used a condom or not."

Finally I manage to reply. "God, Bucky... I'm so sorry."

"And the worst part?" There's an almost hysterical edge to his mirthless laugh. "She only slept with me because she was mad at Tommy, _she used me; _she sat in my lap at that party and played with my hair and murmured _bullshit_ in my ear not because she'd always liked me and saw that I was hurting and wanted to take away my pain like she said but to _make him jealous_. We didn't even like each other, I just stayed to take care of my responsibilities." He wipes almost angrily at his tears and continues. "And you completely cut me out of your life, you wouldn't take my calls or read my texts and," he exhaled hard, tremulously, "then you transfer your degree across the fucking country and move to Seattle. It took months but I tried to make the best of Alicia and I, make a family with her even though it was _you_ I wanted, and then it all fell apart in the delivery room. I never even held the baby I'd spent months believing was mine."

"What happened, where is she now?" I can hardly force the words out around the painful lump in my throat, my heart is absolutely breaking for Bucky right now, and I'm feeling like a thousand different kinds of shit.

Another mirthless snort. "They're back together. Happily married in Miami with three kids, number four on the way. I heard he showed up that same night."

I drop my head, shame so thick on my tongue I can taste it. "Why didn't you say anything sooner? Why didn't Clint, or Steve tell me?"

Bucky shook his head. "Would you have listened? You completely shut me out. You were my first kiss, my first _everything,_ we gave our virginity to each other and now you acted like I didn't even exist... so I told them not to. I'm the one who fucked-up, I was the one that needed to fix it. I flew out to Seattle... four times to try and see you, but I lost my nerve every time and came home. The last time I sat on a bench across the street from your condo all day, waiting for you. They were tearing the sidewalk up half a block down, the jackhammers nearly drove me crazy."

I remember that time, it had been close to three years ago. The city was replacing sidewalks and I'd stayed late at the office every night because the sound had driven me crazy too. I hadn't come home any time before 10 o'clock that whole week.

Buck's got his head in his hands again and I can hear him starting to cry as he continues. "And... after that I just gave up, told myself I'd wrecked the best thing I'd ever had and now I was just going to have to pay for it forever too. I just... hoped I could get you to listen to me long enough one day to tell you that I never, _never_ meant to hurt you, baby; and I would always love you, and I'm sorry. So goddamn sorry."

He breaks down completely now, bowing in on himself in anguish and the raw agony that's radiating off him in waves completely bowls me over, causes a sharp pain to shoot through my chest.

I can't stand to see his pain anymore, it's finally overcome my own childish stubbornness, my dogged need to ensure that Bucky felt the same level of grief that I had for years, that I still felt. I push off the table top and sit back down beside him. He startles slightly, so accustomed to my punishment and aloofness that he honestly didn't expect me to be affected like this and lifts his surprised gaze to me. His cheeks are wet, skin pale and eyes bloodshot and I, tentatively, because I'm so shit scared that even though Bucky's baring his broken soul to me right now, he's not in the next breath going to be screaming at me in a rage for being the one to cause this agony, touch his leg.

His grip is almost painful as he takes my hand in his, presses desperate kisses to it, his breath ragged and hitching. I reach with my other hand and touch his back, feel him trembling beneath my hand and it breaks him completely. Leaning his forehead on my shoulder he shudders, his grief a palpable shadow choking the air around us.

"Please baby... Please give me... another chance?"

My heart is breaking as I speak, the words so jagged they draw blood as they drag across my tongue. "I... can't."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I'm an attention whore, I need reviews!**

"Please baby... Please give me... another chance?"

My heart is breaking as I speak, the words so jagged they draw blood as they drag across my tongue. "I... can't."

Bucky groans against my shoulder, a deep grieving animal noise of pure misery. His fingers curl against my sides and his body jerks as his sobs only grow in intensity.

I lean back, try to push Bucky to sit upright but he's dead weight against me. "Bucky, I can't give you another chance, because it should be _me_ asking you for one."

His breath hitches, fingers tightening almost painfully. "W-what?"

I push again and he finally sits up enough to look at me, face twisted in agony and the sight of his misery, combined with the roiling stew of my own emotions ensures my complete breakdown. Now it's my turn to collapse forward, my forehead to Bucky's shoulder and we end up propped against each other, clinging to the other like a lifeboat in the ocean.

"_I _was wrong." I manage to say, shame and sorrow so thick in my throat I can hardly breathe. "_I've_ wasted the last five years. Instead of giving you a chance and _listening to you, _I ran." Bucky cups my jaw with one hand and I almost can't force the rest out. "You made a mistake but I made the bigger one... I never gave you a chance to talk, to explain what happened; I was so wrapped up in my own... fucking bullshit, I completely fucked us over." I can hardly see him through my tears as I look up. "It's me," I'm so cold, the only warmth where Bucky is touching me. "I'm the one that needs another chance, not you. Please... Can _you _give me another chance?"

My breath is squashed from my chest as Bucky crushes me to him, wrapping himself around me, burying his face in my throat. I can't talk anymore, can only nuzzle deeper into his familiar warmth and scent, warmth and security I've missed so badly and hope that Bucky is a better person than me.

After a long while he inhales sharply and pulls away, hands gripping my upper arms. Reluctantly, more scared than I've ever been in my life, I raise my head and await my fate.

The look on his face gives me hope, his eyes warm as he tenderly cups my face, brushes his thumb across my bottom lip.

"Of course baby, always."

He's too good for me and I say so, my voice breaking. He pulls me close again, curling his hand into my hair and tucking my head under his chin.

"Please James, forgive me." I use his full name not to create distance, but to show how desperately serious I am.

He sighs deeply, a sound of release and I feel his body relax against mine, not even realizing until this moment just now profoundly tense he is. It feels like he's letting go of a huge weight, one he's been holding onto for years. "Only if you forgive me." His voice is threadbare.

"Yes." I whisper. "Yes Bucky, I do."

The sound he makes shoots straight through into my heart and then his lips are on mine and everything else fades away. Something breaks loose deep inside me and I suddenly can't get close enough to him. We're frantic, clawing at each other and then Bucky's standing, lifting me bodily and setting me on the end of the table, moving to stand between my legs. Leaving my mouth Bucky's suddenly pressing kisses to my throat, his hands starting to roam and my blood flares with new desire, desire I haven't felt in years. I reach down, find him already hard and straining against my hand and his groan reverberates through me, his hips starting to rock against my hand.

I fumble clumsily at his fly and his hands knock mine away. Pushing his pants down just enough to release himself his hands are back on me, making me cry out as they brush my hypersensitive skin.

"Fuck baby-" he groans. "Please."

"Yes, Bucky-"

His thick fingers push aside my underwear then I feel the thick head of his cock, slick with precum and he pushes inside me with one steady thrust, groaning low and long in his chest. He freezes in place, body shuddering before he starts to thrust, slowly at first, then harder and faster, each stroke precise and powerful. One hand props us up off the table while the other presses into my lower back, pushing me closer, deeper into each driving thrust. I cup his face in my hands as we kiss and nuzzle desperately, making frantic sounds of need as the desire we've both been holding back for so long is finally allowed to break free.

Bucky drops his head back with a groan, eyes fluttering closed in ecstasy before rolling his head forwards again, gaze dropping to watch where our bodies joined, growling as he sees his cock, slick with my juices, drive inside me again and again. Tucking my face into the crook of his neck he redoubles his efforts, bottoming out inside me, filling me completely. I can only whimper, ride the waves of bliss, lost in sensations. Fuck, I can't even begin to describe how much I've missed this.

I'm rushing crazily fast to orgasm and we've been together long enough I can tell Bucky is too, the way his whole body is shaking, the ragged edge to his grunts and then we're exploding together, Bucky's thrusts becoming erratic as he pulses and spills deep inside me, the sound he makes almost making me come again. We collapse, panting against each other, heads swimming and pulses racing.

Bucky's still inside me when he captures my mouth again and I feel him pour all his love and need for me into his kiss and I do the same, put everything I can't find words for into mine and his answering groan tells me he understands. I feel cold and empty when he withdraws from my body and sway a little bit when our lips disconnect. Panting, he drops his head into the crook of my neck, moaning my name like a benediction, like a prayer. His lips press to my throat, lingering, tender caresses that send shivers through me and I curl my fingers into the baby-soft hair at the nape of his neck, rub my hands down and across his shoulders and am rewarded with a contented rumble from deep in his chest.

Bucky straightens, pulling me up with him then reluctantly steps back, tucking himself back into his pants while I awkwardly clamber off the table, discarding my now ruined underwear in the nearby garbage barrel. I feel strong arms band around me from behind and Bucky's head nuzzle into the crook of my neck. His lips are gentle against my skin and he tightens his arms with a groan, his exhale warm and tickling my throat.

"I've missed you, so fucking much." His voice breaks at the end, muffled by my hair and I shiver.

"We can't do this, it's too fast." The words burn like acid on my tongue, but as the adrenaline and bliss fade, fear is starting to creep into my veins. I feel Bucky tense behind me.

"What do you mean?" His voice is careful, tentative and I can feel the coil of anxiety in his muscles.

It's easier to speak when I don't have to look into his eyes. "We need to trust each other again," I murmur. "I need to know that you won't get drunk and run to some other woman every time we argue... and I have to prove to you that I won't disappear, won't shut you out if things get tough again."

Bucky sighs. "I know you won't-"

"We can't just say that and jump back in-" I turn in his arms and meet his troubled gaze, feel my heart lurch at the fear and apprehension I see in his incredible blue eyes. "We need to prove it, we can't just push all that away, put a band-aid on-"

"I'm not letting you go again." Bucky's voice is broken, threadbare and defeated. His head drops forward, hair curtaining his face. "I died inside when you left, I won't survive it a second time."

"Bucky." I reach up and clutch at his jaw, tears beginning to pool in my eyes. The depths of Bucky's misery continue to stagger me. "I'm not saying no, just... we need to go slow." I'm shocked by the sudden tears that hit me, weaken my knees and if it wasn't for Bucky already holding me close, I would collapse to the ground. "I can't let you go either, I can't-"

"Shhh," Bucky pulls me close, nuzzling into my throat and I burrow into his, greedily inhaling his scent. I've fought this so hard for five years, now the floodgates are open and I couldn't walk away, even if I wanted to; but I also can't survive another break-up.

"I will spend the rest of my life making this up to you." Bucky's voice is fierce, his arms tightening around me. "Please just give me that chance."

"I need to ask the same of you." I murmur, shame beginning to burn my throat again.

Bucky pulls away, fingers gripping my chin. His gaze is implacable, unwavering; his cheeks wet. His lips tremble once before he grits his teeth, squaring his jaw. "We were young. We argued and we said things we didn't mean. We both made terrible mistakes that we spent the last five years paying for. I am not wasting any more time in the past. You are my future, you always have been. Please tell me you feel the same."

I'm terrified. Part of me wants Bucky so badly it hurts but another part of me is still scared; no, petrified. I want to give in, curl into Bucky's arms again and start a new life, but the desolation of the last five years is still too fresh. What if I dive into this again and the same thing happens? I know for a fact that, like Bucky said, I wouldn't survive a second time, a second separation, curling in on myself in abject misery, haunted by ghosts of the past.

Bucky reads my thoughts, he always has been able to read me like an open book. His smile is tentative but his hand trembles when it strokes my cheek.

"Neither would I." He murmurs. "You are my life, Levi; you always have been."

It hits me then. This isn't just me. I've been so self-centred. Bucky's heart is on the line too. He's suffered incalculable pain too, but he's willing to take this chance, willing to jump, trusting I'll be there on the other side to catch him.

I can't speak, for someone who always seems to have something to say, my words fail me just when I need them the most. The lump in my throat is almost painful as I swallow.

The prospect of life after a second separation is horrible, but the thought of life without this man is worse.

I nod, it's all I can do right now.

He exhales shakily, then his hand cups the back of my head and he pulls he close, pressing me against him so there's no space between us and I claw closer still, nuzzling into the baby-soft skin of his throat, feel him groan in response and press a lingering kiss to my hair before resting his cheek on the top of my head. I close my eyes and let the familiar emotions surround me again. Total safety, complete love. For the first time in five years I can draw a full breath.

For long moments we just stand there, holding each other, Bucky rocking us gently and I'm so goddamn comfortable that, before I can stop it, I yawn. Bucky chuckles, strokes my hair and presses a kiss to my temple.

"Tired?" I feel his voice through his chest more than hear it.

"Long day," I murmur back, stifling a second yawn. "Long five years." I whisper the last, but the shudder that I feel in Bucky's limbs says he heard me.

"I'm not ready to let you go yet." He mumbles and, before I can respond, he continues. "Can we just chill tonight? Like we used to? Pizza and a movie or something?"

"Okay," I whisper because, truthfully, I'm not ready to let go yet either. "Your place or... I guess mine, now?"

"Clint mentioned that. Are you moving back?" There's new tension in his voice, fear of my answer.

I can't lie, not after everything we've just gone through. "I don't know, Buck. I haven't really thought about it yet. So much has happened... " I trail off, like the coward I am.

There's tension in Bucky's body, but he nods silently and kisses my hair again. "Okay." I can barely hear him.

I think back to Mom's house and grimace. "There's not much there by way of modern movies. I think Clint took them all. I saw an old Agatha Christie-"

Bucky shudders as he chuckles. "Yeah, no thanks. Come home with me, if we can't decide on a DVD I've got Netflix, plus I have to feed my dog."

I gesture to my dress. "I need to change."

Bucky turns and, keeping an arm slung over my shoulders, begins walking back to his truck. "We'll stop there first."

He holds the door for me again, and by the time he's climbing into the driver's seat I've scooted to his side too, and snuggle against him as he sits behind the wheel. His pleased smile sends a happy shiver through me and I rest my head on his shoulder, like we used to in high school, closing my eyes as he drives away. Part way back I text Clint.

_Hey Clint_

_Where you been, baby sister? :(_

_Sorry, Bucky and I left to talk._

The dots flash and jump for a long while before he answers.

_And you're okay?_

_Yeah. We're good._

_R U coming over? _

_Bucky and I are watching a movie over at his place._

_Okay :) Love you brat._

_Love you butthead, good night._

_Oh, so you're staying the night?_

_We'll see._

_:) Behave you little shit._

I send back the middle finger emoji and laugh when Clint fires it right back. I look up in surprise as Bucky stops the truck, seeing we've already arrived.

"Coming in?"

Bucky shakes his head, smiling.

"I won't be long." I duck inside, leaping in for a quick shower then dressing quickly. I toss a few essentials into my oversized tote, _just in case, _and jog back out. Bucky hasn't moved, is behind the wheel gazing down the street with a fond look in his eye. He startles slightly when I climb in, cheeks going pink.

"What are you blushing about?" I tease, surprised by how quickly we're falling back into our old comfortable ways with each other, its like putting on a familiar old shirt.

"Just thinking."

I nudge him but he waits until the truck is moving to answer me. "It'll be complete."

"What?"

"If you come back, move into your old house. It'll be like before... complete."

The thought doesn't scare me like it would have before, in fact a warm wave of nostalgia hits me instead. Bucky's parents live across the street from Mom's and two houses down, and Bucky and I were always sneaking out to slip quietly into the other's house in grade school after our parents had fallen asleep. When we were kids it had been innocent, but after our kiss in eighth grade, became more serious and more than once either Bucky or I would have to do the ninja dash across the street as the sun was rising to avoid being discovered. The memories almost steal my breath in their intensity and I realize with a jolt that I've locked them all away these last five years, stuffed them into a padlocked box to keep from going crazy and now they're breaking free again.

I also realize I have no freaking clue where Bucky lives now and say so.

"I bought the McMaster's old place."

"By the reservoir?"

"Yeah, it's pretty dated, I haven't had much time to renovate."

"Does the kitchen still have that seventies-chic yellow wall oven?"

"And the matching avacodo fridge? Yeah."

"You going to fuck me on that sweet orange shag carpet in front of the fake fireplace?" I tease, surprising myself at my boldness and making Bucky swerve the truck with a curse, body jolting in surprised hunger.

"Jesus, baby!" He groans, then reaches down and blatantly adjusts himself. "I forgot about that dirty mouth of yours."

"No you didn't." I reply, dancing my fingertips along his massive thigh, pulling another wrecked groan from Bucky. His hand grabbed mine, stilling it.

"No." He agreed, his voice heavy. "I made myself stop thinking about it to keep from going crazy; all those cold nights without you? I nearly lost it sometimes."

A thought occurs to me, one I hesitate to ask but blurt out anyway because that's usually what happens. "You never saw anyone seriously after Alicia?"

He winces and I regret asking, am just about to take it back when he replies, his voice quiet, the edges curling with heartbreak. "No. I was just forcing myself to be with her at the end anyway, all I could think of was you. Even if the baby did turn out to be mine, we wouldn't have lasted. The guys tried to fix me up a few times, but it never worked." He leans down, presses a kiss to my hair and seems to hesitate before adding. "You're the first woman I've been with in five years."

The moment is so heartbreakingly gloomy I can't help but joke in an attempt to breathe again. "That's why you didn't last very long."

Bucky barks a surprised laugh, too used to my twisted humour to take offence. "If I recall," he pinches my side, making me squeak. "You were right there too, screaming my name." There's a hidden question in his words, one he can't or won't ask but I answer anyway.

"Me neither. I mean, I had dinner a few times, some kissing... but I never could let go."

Bucky nods silently, then turns into a driveway. Faint barking starts from inside.

With a groan, Bucky climbs out, holding the door as I scramble out the same side. It sounds like a thousand hounds from hell at the door and while I've never feared dogs before, I find myself eyeing the house apprehensively. Bucky sees my reluctance and snorts, shaking his head.

"Don't worry, Meat talks a big game."

"Meat?"

"Yeah. The first thing the little shit did when I brought him home was piss on my new orbtial sander, I told him he was dead meat if he did it again."

"I'm guessing he listened?"

Bucky rolls his eyes. "Looked me right in the eye and marched over and pissed on my brad nailer. I couldn't really wring his neck, so I called him Meat."

"Okay." I set my feet shoulder-width apart, bracing. "I'm ready."

Bucky shakes his head, chuckling and unlocks the door.

I'm expecting a Rottweiller, or a Bullmastiff, or at least a _big _dog, but what comes tearing out at me is so ridiculous I start howling with laughter as the little hellion rages at my feet.

"Hey." Bucky chastises me, reaching down and scooping up the apoplectic Wire-haired Dachshund, kissing his scruffy head. "You're hurting his feelings."

"He's tiny!"

"I told you he talks a big game. Now say you're sorry."

I snort, shaking my head. "Not until he stops screaming at me."

"Meat, enough."

The dog falls silent, eyeing my suspiciously and I have to bite back more laughter. "He sounds like a frickin' German Shepherd."

"That's what Steve and I thought that morning when we walked onto the site, imagine our surprise when we find this half-starved little rat."

"A stray?"

Buck nods. "Put up some posters, but no one ever answered."

I eye Meat and he eyes me back. "I can see why."

"Hey!" Bucky hugs Meat tighter and I can't hold back my laughter anymore.

"I'm kidding. He's adorable-"

"Hey!" Bucky's retort surprises me before he grins widely. "He's a guy, he's not _adorable._"

"Whatever. Heeyyyy... Meat." I hold out my hand tentatively, ready to snatch it back if Meat isn't quite as benevolent as Bucky says he is and after a wary sniff, Meat suddenly starts squirming in Bucky's grip, launching his wiener-dog body into my arms. I barely manage to catch him and then he's in my face like a bad date, all tongue and no manners.

Bucky starts roaring with laughter, throwing his head back while it's all I can do to hang onto this little shit and I'd be mad if I wasn't immediately taken by the little rat.

Finally the big jerk rescues me, pulling Meat away but I snatch him back again, cuddling him close and find myself baby-talking to beat the band.

Bucky rolls his eyes, feigning jealousy. "I'll leave you two alone." He disappears into the house and I follow, giggling.

Bucky was telling the truth, the house hasn't changed. I remember attending Donny McMaster's tenth birthday party here and seeing the same wallpaper. I'm about to tease Bucky about it when he suddenly crowds me, capturing my chin with his fingers and presses a fevered kiss to my lips.

He pulls away only far enough to rest his forehead to mine then murmurs. "Make yourself at home, I'm just going to change." His voice is husky and I can only manage a nod.

I wander into the living room, Meat still in my arms and can't stop a snort of laughter. The carpet _is_ still orange shag, and the fake fireplace is still front and centre. The only thing newer is the couch and I blush as I remember just what Bucky and I used to get up to on that, when it lived in his parent's basement. As befitting any proper bachelor pad however, is the proper monster flat screen and gaming system.

I hear rustling in the kitchen, then Bucky call Meat's name. The dog squirms so much I almost drop the little shit and he scampers away. After a moment Bucky appears, a bag of chips in his hands, he's changed into worn jeans and a plain black t-shirt and _damn _if he doesn't look good.

"Ew, still like Cool Ranch?"

"They're the shit." Bucky replies matter of factly, flopping on the couch and holding out an arm. I curl up next to him and he presses a kiss to my forehead before grabbing the remote. After a few minute's mild arguing we decide on a movie and Meat wanders in, settling on a cushion in the corner with a huff.

I'm hardly watching the movie, however. I'm so warm and comfortable snuggled against Bucky, so familiarly secure that I am almost falling asleep. Bucky's arm is a delicious weight on my shoulders, his scent bringing back wonderful nostalgic memories and I find myself burrowing closer, curling my fingers into his shirt. I feel him shudder and nuzzle closer too, pressing lingering kisses to my hair before resting his cheek there, huffing out a satisfied breath.

About halfway through the movie, Bucky starts to gently stroke his fingertips up and down my arm and I feel a familiar hunger rising. Rarely did we ever make it through a full movie without at least a little petting, and it looks like we're going to revive the tradition. He grips my chin gently and turns my head, capturing my lips in a tender kiss that deepens almost instantly.

I pull away, but only to move and rise up on my knees. Bucky watches me as I reach over and rest my hand on his shoulder, eyes widening as I lift my leg and carefully straddle his lap. He looks almost unsure as I settle on his thighs, hands tentative as they rest on my hips. He reminds me of him as a teenager, inexperienced and hesitant; not yet confident in his actions when it came to him and I and this primal dance. Holding his wide-eyed gaze I lean forwards, slowly press my lips to his and he groans against my mouth, hands tightening on my hips. It's like he's almost in awe of the moment, not trusting it to be real, to not be some desperate dream conjured by his lonely mind and he lets me take control, lets me lead him into a deeper, more passionate kiss. His tongue sweeps across my bottom lip and I open my mouth to his, moaning in tandem with him when our tongues touch.

His touch becomes more urgent, more taut and he growls as I grind slowly down onto his hardening bulge. But he's still hesitant, still unsure and I take the lead again, pulling his shirt up and over his head, casting it aside without a second glance.

Bucky hisses, dropping his head back with a moan when I trace the definition of his chest, trail down to his abs and his hips lift up against me, his hands holding me down. He wants this, it's obvious, but he's still hesitant to act on it. I peel my shirt off next and Bucky leans forward with a ragged groan, burying his face between my breasts, lips brushing my skin. His fingers reach up, unsnap my bra and he sits back far enough to pull it off, eyes staring at my chest like a starving man at a banquet. Looking up at me almost shyly he takes my nipple in his mouth, closing his eyes as he laves his tongue around it, bringing it to a hard peak in his mouth, drawing out a ragged moan from me.

He's gaining confidence, one hand on my hip, holding me down onto his heavy bulge while the other cups the breast he's not savouring with his mouth and I squeak in surprise when he bites down gently, leaving the beginnings of a hickey. I pull my hands away from where they've been curled around his broad shoulders and unzip his jeans, pushing them apart and reaching in to free him, feel him jerk against me. He hisses as I begin to stroke him up and down, savouring his girth, the velvet feel of his tender skin. I rub my thumb across the head, smearing the pre-cum and he groans again, almost a whimper; then his hands are yanking impatiently at my jeans and I squirm to pull them off, throwing them away and straddling him again. His hands move my hips, rubbing my folds against him then he holds himself steady, guiding me to take his length, pulling me down onto him with one relentless motion, filling me completely.

He gasps as he bottoms out, fevered eyes meeting mine, wide with wonder and desire and _awe_, like he never allowed himself to believe that he could have this again, could feel our bodies joined in this visceral way, and he's still struggling to accept that it's real.

I start rocking my hips, pulling him even deeper and feel his thighs tremble beneath me as he groans. I'm shaking too, nearly overwhelmed by the feeling of being so full, so deliciously impaled on this man and I can only return his awe-filled gaze, roll my hips harder as my body takes over, craving Bucky's body, starved for it for so long.

"Oh fuck... baby-" Bucky pants, arching beneath me, fingers gripping me bruisingly tight, snapping his hips up, thrusting hard into me, brushing my womb and making me cry out in sweet pain. He shudders, pulling me closer then moans the sweetest words, words I'll never tire of hearing, not from him.

"I love you." His voice is strained with lust, thick with emotion.

Then my body explodes and I'm keening in ecstasy, pulsing around Bucky's cock and hearing him follow me, groaning in release as he throbs deep inside me, filling me with his seed and I'm gone, floating on the most incredible waves of bliss.

I wake the next morning slowly, stretching languidly and reach to the side, startling slightly when I feel only empty bed. I sit up in surprise, blinking rapidly. After making love on the couch Bucky pulled me into his bedroom, and lavished attention on me for hours, bringing me to peak after sweet peak before we curled together, limbs tangled and fell asleep.

Sqinting, I see a note sitting on his pillow and reach over, holding it close to read through my sleep haze.

_Good Morning Baby,_

_I wanted to make you breakfast but realized I have nothing in the fridge. I'm running down to the grocery store then I'll be right back. _

_I love you, Bucky._

I smile, even giggle a bit at the delicious shiver his words give me. So much has changed, even in the last few hours... but it feels so right.

I'm pulled from my happy haze by my phone ringing and look over, see that Bucky must have brought me my bag before he left and reach over to grab it, expecting it to be Buck himself, asking whether I still like blueberries or not.

I recognize the number with a frown and press it to my ear.

"Barton?" My boss' voice is sharp, to the point. "I need you back in Seattle _now._"


	5. Chapter 5

"Barton?" My boss' voice is sharp, to the point. "I need you back in Seattle _now._"

"What?!"

"I need you. Leary is back early and wants to bump up his meeting."

"What time is it there?" It's seven am here, what the hell time is it on the west coast?

"Four-the-fuck-AM! He's been on the horn for an hour now! I think he's back on the coke. He's parked his yacht and is flying back today and you know he only wants you on the project!"

I sigh. Richard "Call me Dick" Leary is my firm's most MVP client and a constant pain in my ass. He is forever throwing his seemingly endless money at new projects and needing plans drawn up. A year and a half ago I worked on one of his designs and he decided I was the only one at the firm who knew _'what the fuck they're doing' _as he so eloquently put it, and demands I lead each and every one of his new ventures. He's old Southern money turned new millenium and I actually don't mind working with him, most of the time. He knows he's the piggy bank portion of the deal, and is usually respectful of my plans, but occasionally the old Antebellum charm breaks free and it's like Foghorn Leghorn for awhile until he settles back down. He's got my boss buffaloed so hard that the man who doesn't rise from his king-size bed for anything less than Armageddon before 6 am is currently fielding calls at four-the-fuck-AM and scrambling to comply. It would be funny if it didn't so royally fuck up _my _plans.

"I can't."

"Oh no you don't. You do not say no to this guy."

What he means is, _he _can't say no to this guy. "Tony, I'm just getting things figured-"

"I know and I'm sorry." I'm temporarily staggered. Tony Stark never says he's sorry, not even that time he threw open the conference room door and smashed Thor in the face, breaking his nose with a spectacular _crack_. "But I need you here. This is his last hurrah before he retires, _he says,_ and he wants to go big-"

"The plans are done, he wasn't supposed to be back for a month-"

"I know! But he's back! And if he walks we are _done_! Remember the Thanos Group?"

I do. The Thanos Group was an elite firm that used to work for The Dick. They pissed him off one too many times and he buried them, they lost every big client and had to file for Chapter 11. Moral of the story, keep Big Dick happy.

"I've booked you a 9 am flight out, I need you here TODAY!"

_Shit._ If I say no, I can kiss my career goodbye. Maybe Bucky needs an assistant to hold nails for him. But, if I do this last dance...

Maybe I can have my cake _and_ eat it too.

I just hope Bucky will understand.

"Okay. I'll be there."

"Fuck Barton. I owe you."

"Yes, you do." I hang up and dial the local taxi service for a ride then crawl reluctantly out of bed, start to dress and gather my things. I wince as I hear the front door open and close, the sounds of bags rustling. Then Bucky appears in the doorway, his wide, happy smile dissolving before my eyes as he sees me getting ready to leave. The sudden, surprised sorrow in his eyes kills me.

"Where are you going?" His voice is hushed, as if he can't draw the breath to speak louder.

"I have to fly back to Seattle. My boss called."

"What? What do you mean you have to fly back?" The confusion and dawning fear in his eyes cuts me to the quick.

_He thinks I'm leaving him again._

"This client of mine is back early and demanding a meeting. I'd tell them to get lost but then I'd lose my job." I glance at my phone and wince. I'm not even going to have time to say goodbye to Clint and Nat, I'll barely have time to grab my suitcase and lock up my new house.

"Levi, stay." His voice is breaking and I can't look at him or I'll lose it too.

"Bucky, I can't. I'm sorry. I'm going to miss my flight." I move to step past him, knowing in my bones that I'm fucking this up all over again, but can't stop.

Bucky steps in my way, his fingers grip my shoulders, quivering slightly and I look up into his eyes, wishing instantly that I hadn't.

Tears stand out in his gentle blue eyes and the fear and hurt on his face is something I never want to see again. Regardless of what I say right now, he's trapped five years ago.

"You're running away again." He chokes out.

Tears run hot down my cheeks. I'm not, but it sure the hell looks like it, doesn't it? A horn honking outside interupts my response and I'm torn.

I have to go, it's necessary and I hope it will pay off in the end.

I lean forward and press a kiss to Bucky's trembling lips, feel him press desperately back; feel his broken moan against my mouth as I pull away.

"I'll call you. I'll be back, I promise."

I glance back as I leave, and the sight of Bucky standing there, broken-hearted, cheeks wet with tears will haunt me for years.

I make the flight, barely and fall into my seat. Tony at least sprung for business class, and no one sits beside me which will be convenient when I start to cry. I can't get the look on Bucky's face out of my mind, and it's driving me crazy.

He thinks I've left him again, dressed it up prettier this time, but turned around and left all the same. My mind flashes back to last night and I shudder as memories overwhelm me.

_Still breathing heavily, Bucky lifts me, surprising me with his power and carries me through into his bedroom. Laying me on the bed he crawls over me, hovering for a moment and gazing at me in wonder. Despite the fact that I'm naked beneath him, and he's wearing little more than his jeans pushed down his thighs, he still can't seem to wrap his head around me being here. _

_Pushing his jeans the rest of the way off he stretches over me again, settling between my legs and propping himself up on his forearms. He continues to gaze at me, eyes roaming languidly across my face, as if he's memorizing me anew. _

"_I love you, baby. So much." He murmurs tenderly, trailing his finger along my jaw-line._

"_I love you too." The words don't seem adequate for the depth of feelings I have for him and I reach up to trace along his jaw as well, smile when he closes his eyes and leans into my touch, biting his bottom lip. _

_With a groan, he lines up and drives slowly inside me, dropping his head back, the muscles in his arms shaking. When he's fully seated his head falls forward again and he buries his head in the crook of my neck as he starts to thrust, spine arching sharply and I run my hands along the straining muscles of his back with a purr. _

_He murmurs into my throat with each thrust, words of love and worship that flare through my blood and nestle in my heart. This is exactly where I belong, where we belong._

_My orgasm washes over me almost lazily, and Bucky guides me through it, watching me with something akin to awe as he keeps on driving into me, curling his fingers into my hair and whispering sweet words to me. As my shaking fades he continues to make love to me, slowing his movements when he's close, prolonging his own pleasure to bring me again and again to the edge, watching me tumble off into sweet bliss with a tender smile on his face, belying his strain as he holds his own body back, determined to show me just how much I mean to him before allowing his own shuddering release._

_I cup his jaw, relish the ragged moan he gives me; sweat stands on his brow, his body shuddering as he drops his head to mine, captures my lips in a passionate, soul-capturing kiss and I press back with everything I have, pour everything into my lips and his wrecked groan rips through me._

_As I feel my body ready to explode one more time, I pull away from Bucky's kiss enough to moan. "Baby, come with me... please, Bucky."_

_His eyes meet mine for a heartbeat, wide and full of too many emotions to name. His hand moves from my hair to my throat, gripping lightly, giving him an anchor as he finally gives in to his ecstasy and, as my own body ignites in one final, all-consuming climax, he lets go with a roar, face twisting in sweet pain, muscles rock-hard and trembling. His final erratic thrusts end as he drives against me one last time, throbbing and spilling inside me, filling me completely and seeping back out to coat our joined bodies. _

_Finally he collapses on me, panting, body shaking with residual aftershocks. He sounds wrecked, breath rasping in his throat, but his body is languid and relaxed, cat-like in it's grace. He's still inside me when he kisses me again, still gasping for breath when he speaks._

"_I love you Levi, with all my goddamn heart, I'll never-"_

"Would you like something to drink?"

I startle guiltily as the flight attendant chirps beside me. I've missed the takeoff, we're already at cruising altitude and I swallow hard, fighting to push down the emotions currently threatening to overwhelm me. Bucky gave over his _soul_ to me last night.

And this morning I got up and left.

"Vodka." I gasp, "rocks."

I stagger out of the company car. I usually take the subway or an Uber home, but tonight I was so fucking exhausted I called down for a car; if Tony has a problem with that he can go fornicate with himself. It's been a week since I left and I've been working my ass off to get this last project done so I can go home.

_Home._

The old neighbourhood, where Mrs. Proctor shuffles to the corner store and back home once a day, ready to brain any young whippersnapper fool enough to step on her lawn; where I can look out my old bedroom window and see the spot on the old tree that grows against the house where Bucky slipped that one time trying to sneak in at night and tore a strip of bark off to keep from falling to the ground; where I just have to step out the front door and saunter for thirty seconds to visit my brother, his wife and my niece; where every corner of the neighbourhood holds a memory, welcome phantoms of my childhood.

My loft is already sold, fully furnished, for an embarassing profit. And today I secured my career.

The only dark spot has been Bucky.

He hasn't been answering my texts or phone calls.

I called Clint in a panic that first day, and while he was still pissed at me for hightailing it for Seattle without 'even a proper good-bye', he nonetheless gave into my begging and drove down to check on him. He reported back that Bucky was alive, but not okay. That all he was doing was sitting in his Adirondack chair on his covered deck with Meat in his lap and, while he'd talk to Clint, he wasn't volunteering to initiate any conversations.

_I'd broken him all over again. _

I'd been frantic all week, sneaking moments to furtively dial his number, wait with a held breath for him to pick up, for his gentle 'Levi' to echo across the line to me, and settle the churning in my gut.

My texts were unanswered too, so I pestered Steve, Sam and Clint instead, receiving second-hand reports about Bucky, but no real words from the man himself. They were cautious; frustrated and angry with me for going again, leaving behind a broken man for them to try and pick up and piece together, and while they'd relay my messages, they weren't willing to get into the middle of it again.

Regardless, I was pushing ahead with my plans. I'd crawl across broken glass to show Bucky how repentant I was, and could only hope that he was willing to listen to me one final time.

I'm fumbling for my keys, squinting in the fading twilight when I hear a familiar voice.

"Levi."

My heart nearly cracks apart and tears spring instantly to my eyes. My portfolio falls to the ground and my hands start shaking. And then he's there, beside me, his scent enveloping me, his warm hand on mine to steady it's trembling. Reaching down with the other, he picks my portfolio up and holds it out to me. I raise my head and meet his eyes.

He looks broken, pale and thin, but I recognize resolve in his gaze.

It's growing dark out here, and cold. I have a million things I want to say, but I don't want to do it out on the street. I pray that Bucky is willing to come a little further for me.

"Come in?"

He nods, a mingled shake of weariness and relief and I turn back to the door, manage to find the right key. Bucky's appearance has renewed me and, while it's a shaky, precarious burst of energy, I'm using it.

We're silent in the elevator and as we walk down the hallway. Unlocking the door I step inside my loft and Bucky follows me. Slung over his shoulder is a duffel bag that he sets down with a thump. I shut and lock the door behind us, wait nervously for him to speak first.

"You're moving?" He sounds surprised.

I drop my things on the table and reach out hesitantly for his hand, exhaling in relief when he lets me take it.

"Sit down." I beckon him into the living room and he sits stiffly on the couch, still gazing around suspiciously. Although I've sold the loft furnished (and they can keep all that modern Hipster shit) I've been packing up the momentos and personal items; there hasn't been much.

"Can I get you something to drink?"

He shakes his head and I cautiously sit beside him. I'm not sure what's going to happen. Bucky hasn't spoken directly to me in a week, is he here to make trouble, has he snapped? Decided to visit back upon me a taste of the misery I always seem to leave him in?

"Bucky, I-"

"Baby, come home-"

We speak at the same time, fall back into awkward silence. Slowly he reaches out and takes my hand, pulls it to his mouth and presses a kiss to my knuckles, I can feel his lips trembling against my skin.

"I didn't fight hard enough last time," he begins, his voice cracking. "I let you leave and I let myself chicken out every time I came out here to see you. I'm not doing that again... Please Baby, come home with me." His eyes lift to mine as he whispers the last and it completely erodes the remaining strength I have.

He pulls me into his lap and lets me ugly cry against his shoulder until I can only hiccup miserably.

Smoothing my hair back from my face he gently cups my cheek and lifts my head so he can look into my eyes. His cheeks are wet too, eyes red-rimmed and I capture his mouth with mine, the rush of relief nearly stealing my breath when he kisses me back.

"I am." I choke out.

"What?" Surprise flashes through his eyes and if I wasn't so goddamn overwrought right now, so bone-deep exhausted and worn out, I might be able to muster a teasing laugh.

"That's what I've been trying to tell you."

"I don't-"

"I didn't want to just text you this, I wanted to talk to you directly but you stopped answering my calls." I grin ruefully at him. "Being on the receiving end of that sucks, by the way. I'm sorry I did that to you."

Tentative hope is blooming in his gaze, his eyes boring into mine. "What are you saying?" He breathes.

"I'm moving home. I've sold this place." I gesture to the boxes.

"Baby?" Bucky gasps, eyes widening as it starts to come together for him.

"That's why I left," my heart aches to say this. "I needed the leverage. If I did this last job for my boss and did it well, I'd have the chance to get out of the firm with a recommendation, rather than a black mark. The client is happy, which means Tony is happy, and I negotiated a release of my work contract. One of my co-workers, Thor, left last year to join his brother Loki in Manhattan and they started their own architectural firm. I start at Odinson International next month."

I look down now, too shamed to meet his eyes. My intentions were good, but I still left him without an explanation, and the road to hell is paved with good intentions. "I'm sorry for leaving you like that. I wasn't running, but I understand how it would look like it. If you don't-"

I don't get to finish the sentence, because Bucky is crushing his mouth to mine in a mind-blowing kiss, stealing my breath. He's frantic against me and I'm just as crazy back, finally released from the tension and pain of the last week, the unknown and ghosts of the past. We're clawing at each other's clothes and then he's inside me, driving deep and hard and I'm careening wildly into screaming bliss as he follows, groaning long and low in release as I cradle him to me, feel my soul give over to this man; my forever, my life.

I groan and drop the paint roller, straighten my spine with a huff.

For someone who designs and loves architecture, I hate decorating them.

The bedroom is finally done, repainted a gentle dove-grey. It's the last room to be painted and I'm so fucking glad it's over. The last number of weeks have been a whirlwind. Bucky stayed in Seattle with me for another week while I took care of loose ends, finishing up at work and shipping my boxes across the country so Bucky and I could fly over later. He played tourist, sending me selfies of him at various scenic points of the city, making me laugh as I wrapped up my career at Stark Enterprises.

He and Grimshaw became fast friends, despite the black cat's usual scorn of strangers and more than once I'd come back late to find the both of them crashed out on the couch trying to wait up for me, Grimshaw sprawled across Bucky's broad chest, gently rising and falling with his breaths.

Said black cat was not impressed with flying across the country however, and gave me the cold shoulder for a few days after we landed, saving his purrs and rubs for Bucky.

Traitor.

Bucky's place sold quickly, surprising him and we moved in together last week. Meat and Grim have an uneasy truce, with Meat under the understanding that if he bays like a hellhound, he can expect a decisve swat across the face from one pissed-off cat.

The entire family was thrilled to hear I was moving back, their anger disappearing as my plan was laid bare and the barbecue in Clint's backyard when we finally flew home for good was twice as big as last time, and I spent the entire time in Bucky's lap, snuggled close to him.

We've updated Mom's old house, combining my things and Bucky's together and I love the eclectic mix. My loft in Seattle was cold and impersonal, modern Hipster, but this is _home._ My commute into Manhattan will be easy, my new bosses polar opposites of Tony's high-strung snobbery, and I've already worked out my part-time schedule, ensuring I only need to brave the streets of the Big Apple once or twice a week, the rest of my work can be done in my Dad's old office, repainted and sporting a brand-new drafting table.

Bucky and I have been inseparable, making love each night to exhaustion, drifting asleep tangled together, foreheads touching, breath mingling and waking up still touching, still wrapped around each other, no matter how much we've shifted during the night.

Sam and Wanda's baby is due any day now, and the entire family is on stand-by. Lou babbled something that sounded suspiciously like 'Lev' the other day and I'm so goddamn happy I think I need to pinch myself sometimes and wake from this blissful dream.

Meat's baying tells me that Bucky's home and is cut short with a yelp as Grim slaps him silent again. I smile and cross my arms, taking in the new wall colour, knowing Bucky will find me as soon as he walks into the house. _Our house._

I'm not disappointed, and strong arms soon band around me from behind, his stubble tickling my throat as he presses kisses to my neck, making me giggle and squirm in his grip. He chuckles and holds me tighter.

"Hey baby," he purrs, nuzzling behind my ear.

"Hey," I murmur back, relaxing into his touch.

"You're done."

"Yeah, like it?"

"I'll sleep in a cardboard box baby, as long as I'm with you."

"Flirt," I tease, turning in his arms and he captures my mouth, stealing my breath with a head-spinning kiss. Every kiss, every caress, every touch is like this, Bucky making good on his word to spend the rest of his life showing me how much he loves me, how much he needs me. And I give it right back, I wasted five years in anger and hurt, I'm not wasting another second.

I can't stop my smile, not anymore and reach into my pocket for the item I've been holding onto all day. It's been in my hand since this morning, but Bucky had already left for the worksite and, again, this wasn't something to say over a text.

He's still kissing me, still pouring all his love into his touch, making my head swim and now it's my turn to blow his mind. I nudge his chest and he pulls away just enough to look in my eyes, frowning in confusion at my shit-eating grin before looking down at my hand, resting against his chest.

A pregnancy test, the + sign clearly visible.

His eyes fly back up to mine as he physically jerks.

"Levi?" His voice breaks, eyes filling with tears. "For real?"

I can only nod through my tears as Bucky throws back his head and howls, a visceral roar of pure, unadulterated joy and triumph. Then he's kissing me again, and I've never felt so happy before as I do in this moment.

"Congratuations, daddy." I murmur as Bucky bursts into tears, burying his head in my neck, crushing me to him.

It's all he's ever wanted, all we've ever wanted since we first laid eyes on each other, so many years ago.

_It's Time._


End file.
